


The Fall of the House Never Built

by motleystitches (furius)



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/F, F/M, First Time, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgy, Shatterdome adolescence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furius/pseuds/motleystitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the best and the brightest can be young and stupid. </p><p>In an era when Jaegar pilots are rockstars, the world outside Shatterdome catches Chuck and Mako unprepared with devastating consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ..written and posted with imput from Quigonnejinn.

-=-=

When Chuck steps into the conn-pod of Eureka Striker for the first time at sixteen, Herc has just returned from Hong Kong Shatterdome, expression more shuttered than usual. Scott Hansen has disappeared, but Chuck accepts the official version of his absence with far less attention than he pays to the way his new synth suit is fitting. 

So his preferred name is not quite Australian. So his accent is dubious at best. So he probably doesn't even know what the Eureka Rebellion is, but Chuck Hansen's piloting Striker Eureka and just made a kill defending the coasts of Australia.

Much to the ecstasy of the news cycle and photographers, Charles “Chuck” Hansen, also, at sixteen, resembles his uncle more than his father in demeanor, with moments of exciting shyness that is mostly being sixteen and fair-skinned.

Of course there are interviews, the requests to do cameos, the obligatory publicity events. The PPDC media team briefs all Jaegar pilots and handles all the correspondence, but Chuck have always looked older than he is. 

There are four other pilots Striker Eureka dropped with. Two of them are an engaged couple who want to be alone afterwards. The pilots of Romeo Blue asks Chuck if he wants to go out. It's their first time in Australia and the city, they say, with a wink, is always very grateful and willing to show pilots a good time. They've high expectations for the city down-under.

It's Chuck's first time, too. He doesn't say it, of course. Herc gives him the evening off; he has to conference with the Marshal. Chuck calls Mako while they're in the limo.

She sounds like she just woke up, so he keeps his excitement quiet. He's already given her a thorough account of the fight before she has to rush off to a seminar. The last time Mako's in Sydney, they were eleven years old and it was only for three months practically locked in a hotel at the harbor while their dads talk Shatterdome renovation blueprints. Chuck describes everything he sees outside the tinted windows. Yes, the lights are even brighter up close; actually, the Sydney Opera House is not the only interesting architecture.

"Your girl?" asks one of the pilots when Mako falls asleep on him. 

The question sends a thrill up Chuck's spine. "Yes."

"She all right with this?" 

Chuck doesn't know why Mako wouldn't be. "She wants me to tell her everything," he says truthfully.

"You go, kid," They laugh and pour him a glass of alcohol that smells better than it tastes. "We should give you something to talk about."

They bypass a long line getting into a club and get a booth in the upper story. No one is visibly paying for the drinks that appear on the table, but Chuck grew up in Shatterdomes where no one ever uses a credit card. The music is loud. The people wear little. Chuck lost sight of the other pilots after a while and then nods off. He is shaken awake by a woman with glow in the dark makeup. "Want a taxi?" The music is still playing. Chuck shakes his head, makes his way outside, and calls for one himself.

His phone buzzes at 6am, his time. He tells Mako in a rough voice that celebrating kaiju-deaths outside Shatterdome is fun and they should go find clubs in Hong Kong.

-=-=

Then Striker Eureka goes in for repairs and improvements. Or perhaps Herc is, as Chuck, resentful, tells Mako one afternoon on the Shatterdome rooftop. Hong Kong summers are hot and humid even by the coast. They've just finished a simulation run. It's a flawless victory: longest neural handshake in simulation on record. Off-record, thirteen was their best year, but it was only Drifting, not a full Sim with control arms and kaijus.

Chuck wants another drop. He just had his birthday in Anchorage at the Jaegar Academy, but August is almost arctic winter and the whole population of Alaska seems to be based around Shatterdome. 

"The Marshall called him back," Mako tells him from beneath the shade. She’s slouching against the stone, head tilted to enjoy the breeze. A wisp of hair is caught on her cheek. "They're planning something."

"They're always planning something," Chuck says, scuffing his boots as he kicks a stone, becoming irritated. "Let's go out. We're not twelve any more, they can't keep us cooped up like chickens."

They can, technically, but Mako manages to get a pass for both of them and they walk out. Getting a driver means alerting more people than they need to and Hong Kong Shatterdome's on lockdown because some kaiju-crazy fanatic has been throwing paint bombs at the guards. 

They don't make very far. A hour and twenty minutes after they cross the perimeter, they find a small ball of wrinkly fur selling for a hundred dollars in one of the remaining actual shopping districts. 

Neither of them has a hundred dollars, but Mako wants the puppy, so Chuck is scowling at the vendor. He remembers his wallet just as Mako's patting the puppy goodbye. His dad gave it to him for his "personal needs" without explaining what they were. There seems to be a talk about his pay as well, the gist seems to be that the quartermaster and commissary would still require his ID or access number for any requests. Chuck takes the wallet out of his pocket and finds that it actually has cash inside. 

Well, the puppy's definitely a personal need and this one's from a genuine pet store, with vaccination records, so presumably would not warrant the "bag of fleas" comments of the dogs they fielded in Lima and Vladiostok. Mako's clearly already besotted. She smiles at Chuck when he reaches into his wallet.

"Do you want to name him?" she asks, taking the money he’s trying to hand over and takes out just two pieces to pay. She points to her phone indicating the exchange rate to the vendor and points at Chuck.

Chuck considers briefly then says it's a gift to Mako. Anyways, he named their last dog, though it only lived for a month. It’s the right thing to say. Mako smiles again.

They pick out the collar and leash together.

-=-=

Chuck and Herc Hansen goes back to Sydney after six months and get into Striker Eureka to fight a Category I kaiju which appeared within a month of Dr. Gottlieb's prediction. 

They fight is quick, but Striker Eureka's joints took a hit and then it's back to Hong Kong Shatterdome on the next flight with her pit crew, technicians, and what seemed to be half the Jaegar R&D of Australasia.

The fight is also somewhat overshadowed by the Category III kaiju that appeared around Vladiostok two weeks earlier taken down by Cherno Alpha. 

Chuck hadn't seen Mako in a month. Nothing changed in a month. Except Max, their dog, is looking more like a Max than ever. 

"It's getting fat."

"Because you're not here to eat my scraps," Mako returns. 

Chuck is, in fact, in the process of scraping down the dishes into his own plate. The food in Hong Kong Shatterdome is better than in Sydney. And more plentiful. Even so, Mako’s ration cards and sympathetic looks from the food services are the only reason Chuck survived his fourteenth year without fainting from hunger. 

"Shattedome's filling up," Mako's continues, "Most of the Jaegar Academy are back from rotations and there a number of pilots back." 

So many, in fact, Chuck gets a bunk and one of Striker's dock-crew with a headphone penetrating snore as a roommate. Meanwhile, his dad gets a room all to himself and even Max probably has more space in Mako's room than Chuck gets. The possibility of seeing Marshall Pentecost every morning in the shared kitchen stops him from asking if she’ll mind if he sets up a bed in her room as well. 

"New schedule or actually a new Jaegar. Maybe they'll build Mark-6."

"They'll need to figure out what's wrong Striker Eureka first. What did you do to her?"

He knows Mako has been reviewing the recordings.

"We jumped." And then landed sideways with the kaiju ontop of them. They strangled it in the end. Chuck's side is limping by the time they got into harbor. 

"You were never light on your feet," she said, loftily.

Chuck narrows his eyes. "Is that a challenge, Ms. Mako Mori?"

Mako raises an eyebrow. "It's an official assessment from the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Ranger Chuck Hansen needs to hone his reflexes."

They meet an hour before midnight inside the kwoon. The first shift of environmental services sees them scurrying through the corridor at three in the morning.

Four hours later, Mako's wearing a turtleneck and Chuck has his jacket over his tee-shirt at breakfast. They are sitting shoulders pressed together, talking about Jaegar forearm rotators. Max circles the tables, aiming for the new cadets of the academy and playing tricks for food. 

-=-=

The Chinese Mark-3 Shaolin Rogue fought off a Category I in record-breaking time. Chuck goes to see Striker Eureka. She’s sadly bare at the moment, all her plating stripped off. 

The pilots of Romeo Blue hail Chuck as he comes out of the Jaegar bays.

"Want to head out with us? Chuck, right? Striker Eureka. Sydney drop last year. Return of hospitality and all that." 

"Out?"

Bruce laughs. "Another kaiju dead, another party." In his hand are half a dozen red cards, the picture on it flashing under Shatterdome's fluorescent lights. 

Chuck frowns. "We didn't fight it."

"We could've. You are Jaegar pilot, come on Chuck. It's going to be great. This is Hong Kong. No one sleeps at night and half the planet's here. It's all about options. And this is a private party, so you know it will be fun."

Hong Kong is the Hong Kong Shatterdome and Mako Mori and the most advanced simulation and pons technology research center. And well, there's Max, too.

"It’s not drinks only, this one." Trevin, the other pilot, interrupts. He turns to Chuck again. "Still got a girlfriend, right? You seem the boyfriend type. That hour long running commentary in the car." He shakes his head. “That was something.”

"I have a girlfriend," Chuck answers, and flushes. Perhaps Mako gets similar questions from the engineers and scientists she hangs out with when Chuck’s not there.

"The same one?"

Chuck nods.

"Nice.” He even sounds impressed. “Probably not a good idea to go then."

Chuck shrugs. "Why not?" Trevin raises an eyebrow. Chuck asks, "Could she come?"

Mako's probably still listening to his dad reminiscing about fighting the Category IIs with Mark-1s in the command center. Chuck’s heard the stories about twenty times. He can probably tell it better.

The pilots of Romeo Blue throw a look at each other. “Kind of an exclusive party, limited body space. Only if you are sure you’ll both be there…” Bruce trailed off.

“We’re definitely going.” Chuck eyes the cards again. “Look, I just want to show her around, have some fun.”

Trevin frowns. 

"Sure, bring your girl," Bruce says and finally, Chuck gets the invite. The card is about the size of his palm, a festive red, gilded with gold and there's a stylized mythological creature that looks like a de-whiskered dragon or a stylized kaiju. It looks a little like a Chinese New Year's greeting illustration except for the row of characters in Chinese and English of time and location.

The effect is somewhat garish to Chuck's eye, but well, it's a party invite. On actual cardstock. He runs his fingers over the smooth lettering, the slight rough surface of the card. 

Chuck doesn't know the address, but that's what GPS is for. 

He lingers in the doorway of the LOCCENT until Mako notices him and Marshal dismisses them both and gets his dad’s stories to himself. 

"What are you so excited about?" Mako asks when they round a corridor.

Chuck lowers his voice even though there’s no one about. "Ever been to the Bone Slums?"

"Even Newt doesn't go there." But her eyes are expectant.

Chuck takes a deep breath. "Well, guess what the pilots of Romeo Blue gave me?"

-=-=

It’s not quite sneaking out after curfew. They still scan their IDs getting out of the door and nod at the security. But it’s not the same as getting official leave. Chuck and Mako reassure each other that their senior officers have dismissed them for the evening.

They take a taxi to the edge of Bone Slums before getting out. They walk for ten minutes before Chuck sees a group of people he vaguely recognize. 

“This way.” He pulls at Mako’s arm. She drops her phone and punches him in the shoulder after she wipes it off on his shirt. 

“Who are you talking to?”

“The engineers are doing a live-feed in the main biology conference room.” She shows him the screen as they make their way across the skywalk. 

“Is that Dr. Geiszler?” On the tiny screen, he’s sprawled atop of the table, eyes closed and looking deathly white except his mouth is still opening and closing. “What are they doing to him?”

“Covering him in chalk and drawing Jaegars over him. They do it after every kaiju’s killed by a Jaegar.” Mako answers. “Apparently Newt’s has kaiju tattoos under his clothes. All Over. Well, nearly. We just got to see the ones on his right arm.”

“Nearly?” Chuck echoes, fascinated despite himself. His dad has a tattoo from his Air Force days. He says it’s a sort of bonding experience with his teammates. Perhaps all the kaiju biologists have one somewhere. 

“Dr. Gottlieb announced it after half a gallon of biochem’s moonshine, though once some of the visiting Russian scientists bought vodka and that only took a pint.”

“I’m sure they have better than moonshine at this party,” Chuck declares. “There’s a blue one that smells like flowers you should try.” 

Compared to the rest of Bone Slum they passed through, the place they ended up at seems sylish. A floodlight shines from overhead the entrance; neon signs plastered the walls. People in the line in front of a nondescript door looked eager instead of sad and tired. Chuck marches to the front. The security at the door shines a torch on the card, takes a look at him, at Mako, smirks, and then lets them in.

Chuck can hardly see. Unlike the Sydney club, there are no flashing lights; the music sounds familiar. In the dimness, Chuck’s heart beats faster.

“That’s the rhythm of the klaxon on the Miracle Mile alarm,” Mako says, tense. Chuck tries to relax, but Mako’s wearing all black and it’s difficult to see her in the dark. He keeps an arm looped in hers. 

He leans in and says against her ear, “How many Jaegar pilots do you think are here?”

“There are a 142 Rangers altogether in Hong Kong right now and 56 of the new crop. 12 more are arriving next week from Lima.”

Chuck looks around, there are more than 200 people in the place and more are coming in.

Mako’s steering them toward the brightest area in the center, slipping easily through the crowd while every single person seems intent to crash into Chuck. The bar’s mock conn-pod, modeled after no specific Jaegar, but there are trailing control arms. Pictures of drinks filled the outward turned monitors. 

Chuck shoves them forward to the front and points at the blue one he remembers. “That.”

“One Blue Romeo coming up,” the bartender repeats and reaches for a glass.

“Blue Romeo?” Mako’s laughing. She calls out, leaning over the bar. “Got a Tango Whisky?”

Another bartender, a man, looks over at her voice. His eyes drop to the dogtags on Chuck’s chest. “Shatterdome, honey,” he directs to Mako, as a glass appear from what would’ve been the auxiliary engine release catch. 

“Eureka Striker?” Chuck tries.

“My favorite. Buy me a drink, pilot?” 

Chuck turns around. The accent is European. The speaker tossed her black hair and raises an eyebrow- disconcertingly silver like her lips. 

“Of Striker Eureka, actually.” Chuck answers just as Mako hands him a glass. Chuck scrutinizes the unnatural shifting colors and hopes it’s actually drinkable, not just decorative. The woman’s mouth twists- a smile that involves a peek of a pierced tongue. “Got someone then? Otherwise I’m an Eureka, too.”

“I thought the party’s just getting started.” Chuck presses back against Mako as the woman crowds closer until he can smell her perfume, see the glitter on her skin, prominent on her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, giving off a metallic effect. 

“See you later then, ranger,” she says and melts back into the crowd.

Mako’s short enough that she fits under Chuck’s chin. Someone pinches him from behind. He cries out in surprise, indignant. Mako goes rigid then giggles when she learns the reason.

“Crybaby,” she says and jabs gently at the bruise forming beneath Chuck’s third rib from their last match at the kwnon. “It’s a party and it’s dark. Maybe it’s not even you.”

They maneuver themselves to one of the corner platforms scattered over the place with their drinks: two in each hand. Mako manages to keep hers. They sample what remains of Chuck’s first, guessing at why Blue Romeos smelled like roses and Eureka Striker of kiwifruit when the Jaegar’s mostly constructed in Sydney. 

Just as they were finishing the last of Brave Horizon, which seems to have fog coming off the top, they found servers going around taking requests. They try another round. 

The room becomes even more crowded and the music grows louder. It’s hot, but that’s mostly because Chuck and Mako are leaning against each other. The platform, though padded, have no backs that would allow them to become chairs. They seat the drinks on a tray and dare each other to requests the drinks named after kaijus. Belobog arrived with what looked like a piece of claw in the middle.

Chuck wants to ask Mako to dance like the other couples on the floor, but she is already comfortably close. Her hair’s tickling his nose, her leg pressing against his leg- he can feel her knee against his thigh.

The quality of light seemed to have changed; it’s almost as dark as a Conn-pod during initiation; everything’s in shadow except for the Exit signs, the bars, and the dragon-like creature glowing on the walls Everyone’s moving in shadow, pressing closer and closer.

The music slows- Chuck can count the number of kisses he’s seen in real life on two hands: now, one glance of a space, briefly illuminated by a lazy searchlight, exceeds the number. 

There must be drugs around the place, but it’s the boneslums. The electronic echo of the music, the bodies of either sex in couples or more, flesh bared and tinted blue by the lights- 

He tries to stand up, but Mako falls against him; he ends falling backwards onto his elbows. A glass clatters against a tray. Someone curses in French. Chuck tilts his head back and laughs as Mako tries to find her balance and runs her hand down his side.

“Oh my,” he hears and a pair of lips fell on his. Chuck’s so surprised that his mouth opens then there’s a tongue in his mouth intent on exploring his tonsils. He grabs the head, but the short hair slip through his fingers and his other elbow slips so he’ lying on his back and the kiss gets deeper. He finally twists away, movement sloppy. 

“That looks good,” Mako whispers hotly in his ear.

“Does it?” Chuck asks, uncertain. His mouth is wet from someone else’s saliva. The man has stubble; the skin on Chuck’s face feels slightly raw, but Mako’s hand is cool against it. “Your turn,” he says, rubbing his mouth with the back if his hand. 

Even in the shadows, Chuck knows the jut of Mako’s jaw. She turns, taps the shoulder of the woman next to her and says something.

Chuck’s mouth goes dry. Mako closes her eyes when she kisses. Her eyes are half-open as the woman kisses her. At a certain angle, her black hair obscuring half of her face, they look slightly alike. Two Makos. A curl of tension coils at the base of Chuck’s spine as the woman’s mouth wanders to Mako’s neck and Mako’s looking at him with a hint of challenge.

“You are cute. Very Shatterdome,” the woman manages to say as her mouth reaches the first button of Mako’s shirt.

Mako pulls back slightly. Chuck could see the dampness down her chest, gleaming slightly silver. “What is that suppose to mean?” she asks, but the women was drawing the dogtags out of Mako’s blouse, running her fingers over them.

“These real?”

“They are,” Chuck answers roughly. He could feel Mako go very still in the way that means she’s liable to do anything. “Drop them.”

“I don’t do guys, rangers or not,” the woman says. She dropped the dogtags. “I do have a nice room not in the slums. I can set you up, sweetheart. It’ll be Shatterdome.”

“What?” Mako says, voice slurred. “It is Shatterdome.”

“Whatever,” the woman says, standing up. She stretches , the odd chainmail of her clothes scattering the lights where they struck her. “More fish out there in the sea. Kaijus even,” she points at a corner where a woman’s “See that one, 亲爱的? We’ll give you a show, cherie, change your mind.”

Chuck followed her figure out onto the dance-floor where she looped one arm around the neck of another woman while the other slipped down to her waist then inside a small shirt- Mako lolls her head slightly against Chuck’s shoulder. “Dare you,” she tells Chuck.

“Want a show?” Chuck asks. There’s a frisson that runs through him at the thought. There’ve been people watching them. He smiles lazily and nods at the tallest man in the group. He looks, Chuck thinks, a little like himself. Or at least, near enough- it’s too dark to see the color of his hair or his eyes. 

Chuck let the man kiss him, lick his neck, then sit in his lap. It’s easier this time round; he’s half turned toward Mako, who’s looking at him with mouth parted, her breathing becoming quicker. 

He startles as a hand slip under his shirt onto his chest, a finger almost dips below the beltline. He bucks. “Off.”

The man grumbles a laugh and an “Indeed” and did not stop.

Chuck’s too uncoordinated to do more than shift his hip, feeling the man growing harder against his thigh. It’s not new; he’s been fighting in the kwoon since he was thirteen against seventeen year olds. But this is not the kwoon.

He twists his head and sees Mako, her tongue pressed against her lower lip. A ray from one of the blue lasers strikes her face; the flush is high in her cheek, her eyes glazed.

“Do you like that?” Chuck asks sideways; he’s not getting much out of it. The man’s too heavy, too hot in his lap, his hands too broad; he inhales sharply when his nipples are pinched. His chest is tightening, the air too thick to breathe.

“はい” Mako drags out the syllable somehow, rolls it in her mouth, follows it with the firmer affirmative, and her tongue touches, just slightly, the skin above his eyebrow. Still in Japanese: “He looks like you.”

So Chuck finds himself stripping off his jacket, his shirt, and let the man suck at his neck, run his hands all over his torso. Chuck could feel Mako’s chin on his naked shoulder, her hand on his naked side. They’ve touched and hurt each other accident or on purpose. But he wants to prolong this, savor it forever: the half-lidded gaze, the familiar hard calluses rubbing slowly in circles on his skin, leaving echoes of pleasure rippling outwards and down.

He spreads his legs, hoping to relieve the pressure and groans when the weight’s off his legs and a hard palm presses against his erection. 

The man between his legs glances up at Chuck, then startles as he sees Mako. He gets up to his feet and tries to pull at Chuck’s hand. 

But Chuck’s not leaving Mako, so he shakes his head and gets a middle finger and a long rambling curse. Chuck collapses against Mako as they curse back, loudly, in different languages, until someone shoves two more drinks in their hands. They essay the concoctions: coconut, coffee, and chocolate- he’s drinking sweets.

“Hi pilot, been watching you.” It’s the woman from the bar: silver eyebrows above dark eyes. She sits herself next to Mako. “Looking for the third. I’m taking my chances.” She rises her head toward the dancefloor “The party’s on by now, don’t you think? Your girl local?”

“You know her?” Mako asks. She’s patting Chuck’s hand lazily. One arm slung around her shoulder, Chuck’s thumb is smoothing over the soft skin on the back of her hand.

“Call me Eureka. You know how it is: traveling parents, education from everywhere. And,” she lifts an eyebrow, “I know all the Shatterdome parties and all the pilots- get their engines hot for the next kaiju.”

Mako giggles, huffs a breath against Chuck’s neck. Eureka places her hand on Mako’s knee, sliding upwards inside her leg, 

“Dare,” Chuck says, quiet, against Mako’s ear. “She has your mouth.”

Mako turns toward the woman, while glancing back at him; her eyelashes are spiky with sweat, her pupils cartoon sized as the woman lays a kiss, almost chaste, on her lips, then unbuttons the first button of her shirt. 

It’s only fair. Chuck’s shirt’s already gone and he’s still holding Mako’s hand, settling himself half slouched beside her. She’s slipped down to lie on his stomach, smiling her half-smile as her shirt’s opened. 

Chuck trembles as that mouth moves down Mako’s body. Vaguely, he feels a hum near his thigh, a touch between his legs. The belt’s opened and Chuck sees Mako’s naked hip, the contour of her body- Eureka’s smile between her legs: the silvery bulb on her tongue. 

Chuck kisses Mako, his arm falling to cross over her bare shoulders. Has he ever noticed how smooth they are? How perfectly they can fit even when the world’s upside down and he sees only the perfect angle of her jaw rather than her eyes, eyebrows, the bridge of her nose-

It’s 2am beneath the shadows of the Jaegars in the bays; the corner of kwoon where the camera has a deadzone; the rooftops of the Anchorage and Hong Kong Shatterdomes; inside the simulation conn-pods, outside them in the clutter of the labs, the lights of LOCCENT above them: the bridge of the best and the brightest. 

He is burning, his body empty as a hollow for the waves of pleasure; drowning, adrift, Chuck holds onto Mako. Mako Mori. He loves her. They will kill all the kaijus until the sea is safe. He’ll show her the beach where his mother taught him to swim and perhaps, the house is still there-

Mako cries out into his mouth. Chuck unravels; stars as bright as those in Anchorage winter fall through them. 

-=-=

A spot of blood glistens on the white leather. 

Chuck wakes slowly, moves away from the spot. 

“I think I broke her nose.” Mako sounds faraway.

“Whose nose?” Come to think of it, Chuck’s right hand is throbbing. So is his head. Maybe he broke someone’s nose as well. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

Chuck checks the time. It’s two hours away from reveille, but there are no windows in the place, just slits cut into the walls where the gray morning’s filtering in. 

Without the music, without the lights, or the anticipation it was just a large shadowy warehouse with half naked bodies lying scattered in debris of glass and glitter. The mock-conn pod looks like plastic and paper mache. 

Chuck feels sick. His hands tremble as he fastens his trousers. He sees his jacket. He finds his shirt by his feet and puts it on, wrinkling his nose. It had been new. The surface of the jacket is tacky to the touch, but the inside is dry. He’s still a little dizzy by the time he and Mako stumble out of the door. He inhales sharply in the cold; the wet air smells a lot like toxic refuse and his stomach churns.

Mako isn’t looking too steady on her feet either. She braces her arm against the wreck of a car and heaves. 

Watching the curve of her shoulder, Chuck remembers. He remembers- what happened? His face goes hot. His underwear and trousers are still sticking unpleasantly. Something’s wrong. The pain his hand becomes stinging. The ache in his stomach grows worse.

“Mako, are you all right? Mako?” He tries to pat her on the back. She twists away.

Mako starts running, stops, heaves twice more, and throws up. She totters. Chuck reaches out to steady her. She whirls around, fists raised. 

“I hurt.” And she’s crying and sinking to her knees in the dirt.

Chuck wants to cry with her. He’s never seen her cry. He cried at the first, the second, even the third, pet they lost, but Mako never cried. Loss makes you stronger, she use to tell him, her hand squeezing his as they put the dog in a wooden box and gave it a funeral. 

“It’s an old dog,” Mrs. Hayashi had said. In Manila, she was minding Mako and by extension, Chuck, because sometimes Herc forgets this is not a base with all the arrangements for family members in place. 

“You made its last days happy: clean, fed, and loved.” The dog was a Scottie, with a ridiculous head and clear almost human eyes unlike the other mongrels he and Mako had sneaked into Shatterdome. People abandoned pets all over the coast. Marshal Pentecost took Mako to Los Angeles for three months. She came back to Manila sick with the flu. Chuck had found the dog thin and starving while she was gone. The Scottie even had a collar with a radio chip; Chuck had managed to feed it up and brush its coat to a shine by the time Mako’s well enough to explore the new Anteverse Research Center of the Shatterdome with him, their new dog at their heels. 

For most of that year, Mako was the same height as Chuck. When they lay on the skywalk of the gallery of the Jaegar construction doing homework, their shoulders bump and Mako’s legs lie along the lengths of his. 

Chuck is seventeen. He feels younger than ever. Mako is crying. She has told him to cry only after nightmares, because then no one would know and a good cry is healthy according to the therapists. 

Mako’s crying. This is a nightmare. It’ll be all right. 

“I’ll call a taxi.” 

But taxis refuse the address and Mako’s just sitting there, staring fixed at some unknown point, tear tracks down her face. Afraid, Chuck says, “I’m going to call for someone to get us.” His hand shakes as he gets out his phone to find the number that dials directly to the operational staff. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“You can’t walk.”

“I can walk.”

And Mako stands herself up. She refuses Chuck’s hand, then his jacket, though she’s shivering with her arms hugging herself. Chuck notices for the first time that Mako’s wearing jeans above her boots. They must’ve been new. 

They get a cab. Chuck is about to get inside when Mako stops him. She doesn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t look at you. Take a different cab.”

Hurt, Chuck withdraws as the Mako slams the door shut, the sound shocking in the gray silence. 

Chuck tells the taxi to drop him half a mile from Shatterdome. He walks the distance. It starts raining in the last quarter mile. He isn’t allowed to access the quarters for permanent staff and base officers without invitation. 

He calls Mako. She doesn’t answer. In Shatterdome, loitering can get him in front of his father immediately. Mako said not to call.

Chuck goes back to his room. His roommate is sitting with the laptop in bed on the upper bunk. He looks down at Chuck, then to the floor where water is making a puddle around his feet. A piece of glitter is still stuck to his boot. 

“Had a good night then? What did you do to yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Chuck answers, scowling, water dripping off his hair. He strips and goes into his bunk. He shivers under the blanket and tries not to see Mako’s face, remember his own.

This is a nightmare. But they’re not real. You just need to wake up. It will be all right, he tells himself, closing his eyes to sees the curve Mako’s breast, the arch of her body, he hears the slam of the door again and again: he is the hollow space full of echoes. 

“Hit the lights,” he says hoarsely, his sight blurring. “I need to sleep.” Crybaby. He presses his hand against his chest. The bruise from Mako’s hanbo still aches. His arm, too, but he can’t bear to look. 

In the dark, the light from the screen throws shadows on the walls and the glow of the electronics are the reassurances of a conn-pod inside a Jaegar-

“It’s already morning.”

Chuck draws the blanket over his head.

-=-=


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con warnings.

In the last footrace Chuck ran against Mako before they could be admitted into the gym and the kwoon (and was, in fact, the reason they were granted access) using the entire residence wing of Shatterdome as an obstacle course, he slammed into one of the unit doors suddenly opening and broke his wrist. Early adolescence was mostly one defeat after another to Mako as he gains in height and loses his balance. 

But in the Drift, he shares Mako’s agility, just as she shares the confidence in his own strength. 

They’ve also shared 49 authorized Drifts in the Sim: 49 kills, and the longest neural handshake in the Sim on record. 

Striker Eureka’s the most advanced Jaegar ever built; nevertheless, after a review of the damage and what arcane politics involved in repair and upgrades, she’s being reassembled and reconfigured for speed.

Even Chuck knows Striker Eureka’s not made for two Hansens in synth suits. 

But he no longer sees Mako even at the larger meetings that have to take place in the auditoriums. He keeps meticulous notes and emails them to her, but she doesn’t answer her mail. He wears long-sleeved shirts and tries to find her at meals. 

Chuck even goes to the infirmary until it grows too suspicious. If something happened to Mako, surely someone would tell him. He has his own schedule; he trains, he goes to meetings, he laughs off the sympathetic looks when he asks if anyone’s seen Mako.

Their longest argument lasted month: Chuck just came back from Sydney: gloating over his title as the youngest Jaegar pilot to make a drop and a kill. He held it over her; she ignored him until they learnt that Scott Hansen’s not coming back, reasons unknown. 

Chuck almost stops Newton and Dr. Gottlieb in one of the corridors but interrupting the synchronous orbit of their movement means directing their attention to him. One summer, Hermann demonstrated the value of deductive methods by casually mentioning where Chuck and Mako had stashed Fred, a baby comodo dragon which Newton diagnosed as being blind and slowly dying due to kaiju blue. 

What can they tell from the details on Chuck? 

A fortnight later, Chuck sees Mako at breakfast. He has been getting up early to have time to look for her. He grabs his food quickly and heads over. 

She looks up and a shadow passes her face, gone again so quickly that Chuck isn’t sure if he sees it at all. But she’s at one of the corner tables today.

“May I sit?”

She nods. He sits on the single seat across from her. 

“Are you all right?”

“No.” She hesitates briefly then asks, “Are you?”

“No,” Chuck admits. Mako’s here and talking to him, that is all that matters. He says, “They are simulating Striker Eureka’s basic synaptic response today. The Kiwis are against it; they say the uneven weight distribution will fry the Pons transcription sequence.” 

“The programming will compensate, as long as one of the pilot is aware of the modifications. Symmetry in design is convenient, not essential.” Mako’s been reading his notes from the lectures. 

“So am I,” Chuck nods and pushes his plate across. The canteen doesn’t serve hot food until six. He got the first batch of chocolate waffles or what approximates them; even the Americans don’t know.

He hands her his fork, but the contact of their hands jolts them both. Neither catches the fork as it hits the plate. Mako flinches and uses her chopsticks to twist a piece off the waffle instead. Chuck bites his lip to stop himself from shouting. He almost upsets the chair when a hand hits him on the shoulder, someone touching his neck. 

He twists, grabs the wrist, and finds another hand locking him in place. Trevin’s amused face is looking down at him. “Haven’t seen you around much, Chuck. Your old man giving you a hard time in training?”

“Good morning,” Chuck says, numb. Mako’s hands on the table have curled into fists. 

Her hands are open on the table as Bruce wanders into view. 

Then the pilots of Romeo Blue look down at the single plate on the table between Chuck and Mako. 

Trevin’s face blanches. Beside him, Bruce turns into an odd puce. 

“Ms. Mori,” Bruce says, bows his head slightly, then a look passes between him and his co-pilot before they sit themselves on the other side of the cafeteria.

When Chuck turns around again, Mako has left exactly half of his breakfast in his plate. She’s getting up with her tablet.

He almost reaches out to grab her arm. He grips the edge of his tray instead. “Will you come to the kwoon today?” 

Chuck has been avoiding the kwoon. He had three matches scheduled and forfeited them all. He spent the time at the gym. His dad has been with the Marshal and hasn’t noticed yet. 

“Maybe.”

“I’ll be there,” Chuck says. “Can’t remember the last time you beat me.”

Mako frowns. “You’ve a short memory. How’s that bruise?”

Chuck quirks a smile. “What bruise?”

The frown turns mocking. Her mouth lifts subtly at the corners. “Very well. Eleven.” 

It’s their usual time to meet. The vague ill feeling in Chuck’s stomach eases slightly. 

He’s getting out of an engineering lecture, the last to leave because Mako sent a message criticizing the organization of his notes when he finds his way blocked by Trevin and Bruce. 

Bruce lowers his voice. “Mako Mori, the Marshall’s daughter? She’s your girlfriend?”

Mako prefers the word “protégé” these days. Chuck tries to shove through them. 

“Never mind that,” Bruce hisses, blocking the doorway with one arm. “Did you bring the Marshall of PPDC’s underage daughter to an orgy in the Boneslums?”

“She’s seventeen,” Chuck answers, defensive. He’s seventeen as well and Mako’s actually older than him by a few months. 

“She’s seventeen, he says,” Trevin repeats. “Seventeen. Seventeen year olds, Chuck Hansen, expect prom dates and movie dates and even bookshop dates. Hell, dress up and take her on a rail inland to a nice restaurant and watch the stars or something, not Boneslum post-kaiju parties. Damn you, Hansen.”

“None of your business.” They don’t know Mako, or him. Chuck is at least an inch taller than both, but both pilots are broader than he is. 

“Does anyone else know?” Bruce closes his eyes. “What am I saying? This is a Shatterdome. Everyone knows by now or they will soon. Are you an idiot?”

“I thought it a bad idea,“ Trevine begins.

“Should’ve one with the instinct,” Bruce finishes. “No, I don’t want to hear anything else from you, Charlie boy. I like to keep my plausible deniability when this blows up. I suppose we won’t see you around much longer.”

“Why?”

“Because Pentecost is going flay you alive when he finds out. You’ll go the same way as your uncle. What is it with you Hansens? First Scott, now you.”

And Scott Hansen did disappear. Did he do something, too? Chuck took Scott Hansen’s side on Striker Eureka. The whole world may believe the story of Scott Hansen retiring at his peak for some unspecified post in PPDC, but neither the Marshal nor his dad would talk about where his uncle went. 

It’s disgrace and dishonor when hero’s story suddenly ends. A kwoon match in six hours becomes a distant comfort. Chuck’s arm aches as if red-crescent shapes are still there.

“Is it possible to Ghost with someone you never Drifted with before?”

Bruce and Trevin passed an indecipherable look between them. Then Trevin said, “And if you mention our names, Chuck Hansen, we are still not the person who brought Stacker Pentecost’s daughter to an orgy and then regret it afterwards. Just a sense of perspective for you there, rookie.”

“I don’t-“ But they’re gone before Chuck finishes.

-=-=

The kwoon has no closing time, but usually no one’s in there after ten at night because hot water’s rationed in the early hours and a lukewarm shower is the best to hope for, unless quartered in the old sections of the Shatterdome, close to LOCCENT.

Mako’s boots are already in the lockers by the time Chuck arrived. They warm up in silence.

“Good to go?” She asks.

Chuck nods and takes his position on the opposite side.

His advantage in size is less pronounced in armed combat. Mako’s quickness combined with technical precision means when Chuck spars with her, he’s to be more careful of his form than usual- longer arms and bigger body also means wider openings and a bigger target and Mako takes every advantage. Chuck tends to bring down the weapon with most of his strength, hoping that the force would throw off her momentum and slow her defense.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Their weapons, though blunted and wooden, could kill. The skill in sparring at the kwoon is never making a true hit, to stop at the critical moment unless agreed before the match and wearing basic protective gear.

Marshal Petencost’s Rangers are expected to fight kaijus, not each other.

It’s uncertain who hits whom first. Watching them fight, their instructor onxw declares, is like watching poker, a game of no redeeming value; she never puts them up against each other, but Chuck and Mako add stipulations and rules to their own matches.

Chuck can predict Mako’s movements and he knows she can his- except, four moves in, he stumbles. Mako’s so surprised she hesitates until Chuck regains his balance before coming in again.

Their shoulders brush against each other and the sensation made Chuck turn out of the movement faster than he should, the momentum leads him to strike against Mako’s well-defended upper torso instead of her legs. Her hanbo strikes his hand; he loosens his hold on his hanbo and grabs at hers. He grabs with his second hand, twists, so she has to let go. As he bears down again, she ducks, rolls, and reaches for the hanbo he drops before attacking.

She manages to flip him on his front, the hanbo tripping his legs, hitting his arms so he’s off balance. He lashes out, manages to block her next hit before momentum carries them both to the floor.

She’s straddling him while he’s face-down on the mat, the day’s worth smell of feet in his nose. He tries to breathe through his mouth instead, his heart still beating too fast.

That wasn’t a match, that was-

He’ll fix this somehow, but the hanbo’s right above his shoulderblades and the way Mako’s lying on him makes it very difficult to move any of his limbs without straining something.

“You have freckles on the back of your neck,” she says, mildly.

Chuck growls. “Are you counting them? Let me up. It stinks down here.”

She lets him go. They get dressed in silence. They are almost at the door, the long stretch of the corridor between them before Chuck can’t stand it anymore.

“What was that?”

She’s bites her lips. “Look, it was-“ and falters.

What was it? Mako is looking at the wall instead of him. Chuck says, “It was a long day for me.”

Mako nods quickly. “For me, too.”

“Right,” Chuck repeats, relieved. He looks around and leans down. Mako kisses him quickly, on the jaw. Then, looking annoyed, she places both hands on his shoulders and bends him forward so her mouth fits against his.

“Is that better?” Chuck asks, grinning a little when she pulls back.

“No.”

“Should we-“ He jerks his head toward the locker-rooms. The cameras there are just for show and there’s an emergency exit toward the rooftop. The nights are still warm enough. They haven’t kissed in an age.

“My room,” she says, taking his arm. Before Chuck can ask when the Marshal will be back, they’re heading down the private corridors. Mako swipes her access card and pulls Chuck through, leading him rapidly toward her room.

“Your dad,” he hissed quietly as she turns the hatch. He steps inside, still standing on the concrete instead of the thin carpet. 

“Calendar has Herc’s name after dinner. He’s not going to come back tonight.”

“If he finds out-“

Chuck hasn’t been inside Mako’s room since he got back. It hasn’t changed since he last saw it a year ago, the desk still cluttered with machine parts and notebooks, the bed only half-made. Max is sleeping in a nest of blankets in the corner.

“Find out what?” Mako asks, innocently. She’s taking off her boots; she hasn’t even bothered to lace them up when they left the kwoon.

Chuck bends down to unbuckled his. “If _my_ dad finds out that I’m in your room after curfew-“

“It’s my room. You are invited. We are conducting an experiment,” Mako says, firmly.

“We are not.” Chuck answers under his breath. He looks up, tries to make it clear. “This is not an experiment, Mako. It can’t be.”

“Fine then. Go shower. Wait-“ She goes to the drawers and take out a towel, a toothbrush, a razor, man’s shirt in his size and shorts. The tee’s gray’s faded and soft. Mako rolls her eyes before Chuck manages his question. “They’re my pajamas, Chuck.”

All showers in Shatterdomes look alike: they’re given stock soap, stock shampoo, and even combs emblazoned with PPDC logo for fear of sabotage. It made the whole process easier. Chuck washes and dries himself carefully before brushing his teeth. It takes him two tries before he screws on the cap back onto the toothpaste.

Mako still mostly dressed when he’s finished.

“I left the towels on the rack…” Chuck is suddenly very aware of how pink and ginger he must seem against the concrete of the walls and the bright paperbacks on the shelves behind him.

“Ok.”

“My turn,” Mako says and takes her things from a pile on the to the bathroom.

After he righted Mako’s boots and stood his next to them, Chuck starts making the bed. He arranges and fluffs the pillows, pulls up the blanket, straightens the sheets, and tightens the corners until it would even meet his uncle Scott’s exacting standards. 

He wonders if he should sit down. Then he wonders whether it would be better if he lies down? Should he get undressed first? Flip open a corner on the bed? Hotels do that. Perhaps she wants him It seems presumptuous. He hasn’t been invited yet.

The angles of the PPDC crest on the box of condoms on the sidetable looks hostile. He turns it against the wall so that the instructions and warnings in three languages are visible. 

He knows this: green, yellow, red. Stop if any party says no. Always ask.

There’s also the contact numbers to call for any medical needs or advice.

When they were younger, the advice part has seemed especially funny. There’s a rumor that no one will confess to that the advice is always good. 

The doors in Shatterdomes are always heavy; even the bathroom door makes a noise when it opens. Chuck doesn’t know what he expected, but Mako, hair still damp, looks like Mako from five minutes ago.

It’ll be fine. This is how it’s always supposed to go. Mako’s the one with a room to herself. She has the room with the shower and constant supply warm water. The only thing better would’ve been if..Well, is it still a personal fantasy if they’ve both imagined taking off a drivesuit beforehand, never mind that drivesuits are not worn outside drivesuit rooms.

But Mako’s smiling at him and he thinks the blush on her face is for him. This is better.

She tastes a little sweet from the toothpaste, but the touch of the tip of her tongue pushes a wave of heat through him. He draws back a little, growing breathless, then presses closer again- let the rise of want surge through him- this kiss a little more forceful, a little more yielding: Mako’s teeth grazes his bottom lip. 

They should get to the bed. Then, then instincts should take over, but despite the extensive description of what he can do, no one seems to have covered the actual logistics of getting there. They haven’t turned off the lights. Over Mako’s shoulder, the screen displays the time, todo list, the LOCCENT newsticker, the screensaver kitten chasing a butterfly.

The bed is somewhere behind him, he thinks, dizzy.

“You are overthinking,” Mako says. 

“Probably,” Chuck answers and lets Mako pushes him back with a hand on his chest. 

The back of his legs hit the edge of the mattress. Mako lowers her head and catches his mouth as he sits. Chuck sighs into the kiss, leaning back as she presses him forward until he’s lying on his back, feet still on the ground. His wraps his arms around her, the cotton thin and soft enough that he can touch the hint of the blades of bone as she moves. And he’s wonderfully aware of the soft curve of her breasts against his chest. He trembles slightly as Mako’s mouth slips to his neck, her hand to the hem of his shirt, pushing it upwards. Every touch of her hand against his skin sends a jolt of excitement through his body. 

“Off,” she whispers against his ear. 

He scrabbles to help her take off his shirt, then goes to help with hers. Mako’s underwear is like his, standard issue. Everything they own is standard issue. Chuck’s ridiculously glad. He doesn’t want to fumble. Her bra is just like a tighter vest. He takes it off the same way he does his own. Then he stares, his hand drawn to touch before stopping himself. 

“You can touch me,” he says, mouth dry, a little hesitant as he takes off his shorts, but Mako’s doing the same. He doesn’t know where to look. “Anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Mako breathes, her eyes darting up and down his body. She’s naked. His heart is beating so fast that it almost hurts. “Ok. You, too.”

When then kiss again, the smoothness of her skin surprises him and he almost apologises for- O, and she kisses him again, quite low, the middle of his chest, actually. 

She looks up at him, the familiar hint of challenge in her face belied by the way she’s smiling. “Want to put me on my back?”

Something sparks through him. He flips her over in a move that’s never supposed to take place in a bed- the balance is off, but the unexpected ease of having the air at his back sends a thrill up his spine. Then a heat twists downwards his body again as Mako strokes her hands up the back of his thighs, her fingers digging into his flesh of his ass. 

Beneath him, her eyes are wide and dark, her mouth half-parted. Chuck groans and rocks down against her and Mako’s breath stutters. There’s a sheen of sweat against her throat that Chuck wants to kiss and does, but is distracted as Mako hitches a leg up his hip and arches up into him. He spread his leg wider, wanting to thrust himself harder against her. Like this, she seems so very small suddenly, vulnerable. Can he break her? He has never actually thought he could. 

“Go on top,” he whispers, desperate. Holding himself still takes all of his effort.

Mako’s eyes widen briefly, but she nods and maneuvers Chuck onto his back and then she’s sitting above him and the view is different. He moans as Mako moves away, her thighs against his. He’s so hard that he wants to cry a little when she stops moving, sitting astride him for a moment before settling above him.

Mako’s watching him with a gaze like a brand; his skin flushing beneath the sweep of her eyes as the mattress dips when she shifts her weight to lean over, one of her hand stroking his side, his torso, before she kisses him again: his collarbone, his neck, his mouth, thrusting her tongue inside, the slick slide deep and dirty and glorious.

They both whimpered when it finally becomes too hard to breathe to part.

“Touch me.” And he shudders when she closes her hand around his cock. She stops, glancing at him, eyes half-lidded, as if she’s about to swoon. 

There’s a dull roar in his ears.

And what are they doing? He must’ve pulled the sheets from their tucks because the cotton’s wadded in his palms. The lights are still on. Is it supposed to be? Is she suppose to put the condom on? Or perhaps he is? And she’s still waiting, her manner deliberative. Almost assessing. Measuring. 

Tension builds at the bottom of Chuck’s spine. 

Mako bites her bottom lip and throws up a questioning look at him. She’s breathing heavily.

Chuck gulps, the mixture of desire and uncertainty momentarily confusing. Then the air seems too think. “Get on with it,” he gets out.

“Don’t kick,” she says. 

“I won’t.” 

Mako scoots down, opens her mouth, then edge of arousal sharpens and pierces him and he bucks upwards; the points of Mako’s elbows dig into his thigh and he forces himself to still. Be still and breathe. But he’s moaning anyways and his whole body’s trembling.

“Don’t stop,” he tries to say. But Mako stops and Chuck chokes back a growl of frustration.

“Go on?”

“I can try it, too,” he offers after a moment, so turned on he’s dizzy. He’s never drawn it out this long before. 

“I don’t have a cock.”

“Very funny, Mori.” But the mockery’s half-hearted. 

Mako’s legs brackets his waist, his chest. He’s anchored his hands on the long muscles of her legs. 

“Suck it, Chuck.”

And she usually says it while he’s lying under her, triumphant, but now her face seems a little uncertain and her voice wavers at the end, so Chuck counts that as a victory, closes his eyes, moves himself closer to her, and licks.

Mako makes a noise, half wild, which sets Chuck’s heart racing. He tries the same motion a few times when he realizes she's gone abruptly silent and still.

“Don’t move. I will,” Mako says, with a hitch in her breath when she looks down at him.

Chuck licks his upper-lip again, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Don’t come.” Mako stretches out toward the nightstand, the other hand firm against his chest, but there’s no other point of contact between them. 

Chuck squeezes his eyes shut, thinks about amino acid groups, as Mako takes him in hand and rolls a condom on.

He opens his eyes when the hand moves lower. His opens his mouth; it’s too dry; no sound comes out. 

“I can’t,” he hears but he thrusts up just as Mako presses down. 

And then he’s coming between her thighs. He throws an arm over his face, embarrassed. Mako’s still above him. 

He jumps as something soft furry and warm touches the side of his arm followed by a wet tongue. Mako jerks above him. 

Blearily, Chuck looks to his side.

They’ve wakened up Max, who has stumbled toward the bed, puts his paws against the mattress and is now gazing affectionately at them both, probably still half-asleep. 

Mako lets out a breath and lies against his chest. Chuck kisses Mako’s shoulder; she does the same, then shivers as cold air from the AC blasts their sweat covered bodies.

They’re still sliding slightly when Mako gets off of him and throws away the condom. He catches the disgust in her face and whatever he wants to say withers when the bathroom door shuts. 

There are no stars on the ceiling in Mako’s bedroom. The whitewashed concrete stares back at Chuck.

He can go again. He thinks. Be better. Mako just has to look at him sometimes. And the memory of that- He’s never going to be able to fight with her in the kwoon again. At least, not in front of other people. 

He's still so nervous that his entire body seems to be thrumming. Shadows starts to grow across the ceilings. He only realises he's half-asleep when Mako pushes at him. 

“I like your body,” Mako says, handing him a wet towel. 

Chuck knows he’s blushing again as he cleans himself. The towel's warm. The flush on his chest hasn’t faded. In fact, it seems to have deepened in color. He rubs at it, absently, but only made it worse. 

“Likewise,” he croaks, his fingers remembering the unexpected smoothness of her skin. He catches her eyes. “I wanted it to be with you.”

“Me, too,” Mako says quickly.

She’s still naked. He’s still in her bed, only a little relieved when she comes by to sit by him. They are not touching. He should probably wash his face, too. He folds out the clean part of the towel. 

“I should go.”

She doesn’t ask him to stay, which is a relief. He feels hollow and full at once. He throws his dirty clothes down the laundry chute—they’re all labeled, anyways, and reach for his boots. 

“Take Max with you.” She says from the bed, “He’s drooling on my sheets. If you see anyone, just say you’re taking him out for me.”

“Wake up, Max,” he says, but Max grumbles from his perch on the blanket they’ve dislodged from the bed. So much for that idea. Chuck picks him up and carries him. 

Thankfully no one sees them in the hallways. Chuck goes back to his room, showers, dresses, and goes to the Jaegar Bays. The early shift is always glad to have help. And when he sees Mako very early that morning, it’s just another morning. 

-=-=

Max runs back to Mako’s rooms the next day. Chuck doesn’t have the energy to call him back.

Sex is supposed to be easy. At least, easier than linear algebra, beating his dad at hand-to-hand, or actually killing a kaiju. His last physical declared him perfectly healthy and it’s still thinking about Mako that gets him going. 

He checked in the shower. 

So it’s just- time, circumstances- And it adds up to something like not being enough. Maybe it’s the lights, but he can’t imagine not being able to see her.

Predictive models depend on past data. Right. 

“Chuck, who is-“

And she stops. The man Chuck brought along with him is about the same height as Chuck, similar coloring: young, white, though a shade more blond than ginger. And even better, he has a Shatterdome contractor pass and is apparently new enough that he’s a bit confused who and how old Chuck is. 

“Hansen, thought it would be your room, right? I don’t think orientation-”

“If you don’t get out of my sight, immediately,” Mako’s voice has taken that edge of warning. She’s going to all the wrong conclusions and starts to turn away. 

The man, Matt or Mike or Jack, looks between them and says, “You know what, this is enough of a tour.” 

Desperate, Chuck takes off his jacket and snaps his head at him. “You said anytime, anywhere, right?” He takes his shirt off. “So where are you going?”

“What are you doing?” 

Mako stares, nonplussed. Chuck lowers his hand from his shirt.

“I was getting out of here, but should’ve known. Those rumors.” The man’s muttering, but while he’s shaking his head his eyes are riveted to Chuck’s chest. Then the stare’s slowly sliding down toward where Chuck’s hands are at his belt. 

Uncomfortable, Chucks takes them away and meets Mako’s eyes. “Mako. Listen, it’ll be good for you, I promise. I’ll make it really good. Anything you want.” 

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!” Jack protests.

“It’ll work out, Mako-“

“I’m not letting anyone tie me up and no-“

Chuck whirls around. “Trying to talk here! Would you just shut up!”

Mako looks at the man. “Just follow the exit signs,” Mako tells him. “Go. Leave.” When the man doesn’t move, Mako says, “Do you want me to call security? I don’t think your clearance allows you this far.”

The man looks at Chuck. “Go,” Chuck repeats. It took something to even get him to come. He’s terribly disturbed by the ease of how seven lines cribbed a conversation he overheard in the ranger locker-rooms work. 

Then Mako and Chuck are alone in one of the corridors leading to the Jaegar Bay. 

“Don’t let the flies into the Shatterdome, or did you not get the memo?” Mako asks, crossing her arms. 

“He’s not a fly. He works here.” 

“You picked him up! You picked up a man, Chuck Hansen! Male. To go to your room?” Mako is furious, Chuck feels his own anger rising. 

“Because I thought he might help!”

“Help with what?”

Mako looks genuinely confused, which only makes Chuck angrier. “I want us to try again. And I thought, maybe I could’ve done something and I didn’t.” He ignores how hot his eyes feel or how much he’s rambling. “But how do I know it’s not just another failed experiment? So he’s for you. Try again and see. But I don’t know. Did you ever mean it?” 

He regrets as soon as soon as the words leave his mouth. Mako goes very still.

“Charles Hansen, if you want to get fucked that badly, that’s your own business! Leave me out of it.” 

“Leave you-“ Chuck chokes. There isn’t enough air in his lungs. He wants to hit something and Mako’s balanced to take a swing. 

The alarm jars them both. 

They shove past each other for the next few hours without speaking, but somehow, because this is a Shatterdome, everyone knows.

Or at least, enough that after city-wide alarm ended and the decontamination crew’s on site, Chuck receives a summons from his dad. 

Herc’s looking bruised as usual after a kaiju attack, whether or not if he’s the one inside a Jaegar. 

Chuck knows he’d rather be in a corner in the dark than talking to Chuck. Chuck doesn’t really want to talk to him either. 

He goes into parade rest as Herc goes on, awkward, about how the rules of consent and age are very clear in Shatterdomes for Shatterdome personnel which ascribes to international standards not the country of its locations, but Chuck’s a free man so-

After a minute, Herc gives up and lays out it for Chuck: Mako Mori is a ranking officer of the PPDC, so he’ll discipline Chuck according to the regulations if there are reports of any misconduct or in fact, any hint of untoward behavior. 

Herc makes a good effort mimicking the Marshal, but he’s not.

“What happened?” he tries asking at the end,

“Nothing,” Chuck mutters, which’s the entire problem. 

“I thought you knew better.” And he shakes his head as if he knows what happened. “I thought you and Mako-“ 

He gives up the line when Chuck glares. 

“You know, when your mother and I first met, I knew I was going to marry her. I didn’t say it, of course. She-“

Sometimes, Chuck doesn’t want to be in the same room as he is.

“Permission to be dismissed, sir.”

Herc nods.

Chuck flees. There’s nowhere to run to.

His entire life’s in Shatterdome and Mako and he are spoiling for a fight. They share their meals and circle around each other. 

They are aware that wagers are being taken. 

His face slams into a wall outside the physics labs right before a scheduled Sim. 

Dr. Vanessa Gottlieb sighs when she sees them. He has a cut on his lip and a cut across his cheekbone. The nurse in the infirmary had already taped it closed. 

“You shouldn’t antagonize her.”

Chuck slants a look at Mako. “She said I don’t need my face to pilot a Jaegar.”

“He doesn’t.’

“You need your intact brain in your intact skull,” she says. “And Mako, you should be both be uninjured when you pilot; there’re reasons kwoon training are no-contact fights. Also, the Drift in the Sim is not like a Jaegar Drift for your safety; in the Sim, the system shuts down if it thinks there’s any hint of a RABBIT.”

“I know,” Chuck says, impatient. 

“You Drifted once inside a Jaegar,” she says sharply. “With Herc Hansen, who’s trained as a Mark I pilot; the Mark 1s requires a degree of mental discipline verging on self-hypnosis to maintain an unbroken link to the Jaegar. Later systems factored in more baseline variability, but top physical condition also means no aches, pains, or open wounds.”

“Understood,” Chuck and Mako says in unison, and steps into the Simulator. 

The Conn-Pod goes dark; the screens come online. A recording of Tendo’s voice briefs them on the scenario.

They catch the Drift. It’s always easier to go in on a shared memory. Nine and a fight outside the Marshal’s office. So angry and relieved that she doesn’t understand what he’s saying. 

And he pushes her first, the bastard, yelling at her for no reason. And Mori Mako’s never fought a boy bigger than her, but he’s not much bigger. 

And it’s eleven and they’re the only children in the entire Vladivostok Shatterdome.

A game of launching ice-cubes from the champagne bucket at each other in an abandoned mansion that’s going to host some sort of press conference; a furry puppy coming out to greet them from the rubble. 

Mako’s Japanese improving working with the team of robotics experts Japan sends to Hong Kong- Chuck touches in wonder the gift of a water-painting of them leaves her. 

He’s seen it in her room. 

And the sheer joy the time he beats his uncle in a swimming contest in Sydney, for a charity event. Scott hasn't minded at all and handed him his sunglasses when Chuck's on the podium, squinting into the sun and cameras. 

The memories move faster in no apparent order. The deeper the bond, he quicker the neural bridge builds. 

But he can see the flush in her face under the stars. And amidst the strobing lights, he feels Mako’s excitement feeding his own.

And he sees himself, too, looking terrified, holding her so tightly she cannot sit up.

“Chuck, Chuck,” she says, trying to get him back. Don’t leave me there.

There’s a stranger between his thighs.

There’s a man who is, actually, now sucking Chuck. She hears the ugly wet sounds, the way Chuck is breathing through his mouth. And her own legs are trembling. Someone’s between them, the startling intimacy of her mouth on her underwear making her kick out, only to have a leg caught. 

Look at Chuck, instead.

Look at Mako, instead. She’s so close to him, half of her body on him. 

And he wants to get away, close his legs, shove the guy off. 

The nails of her hands dig into his arms. He’s holding her. She’s flying apart. His face: familiar and lovely. That is his body. This is hers. There’s no one else.

But Chuck likes it. The girl is dark haired, too. 

But Mako likes it. She says. 

So he stays still.

….for you…

So she means it. 

…for you…

But for you….

…She died…

…to save you.

It goes dark. The control arms release. Chuck throws himself forward and throws up. 

Beside him, Mako’s doing the same. 

‘I’m sorry,” he says, and passes out. 

-==


End file.
